


Of Bees and Backpacks

by clarinetchica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Food Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarinetchica/pseuds/clarinetchica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock messes up an experiment and John gets incredibly turned on. Pure smut for MrsNoggin involving honey. Johnlock. A PWP to get me writing again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Bees and Backpacks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsNoggin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/gifts).



> For MrsNoggin, who prompted: “I would like Sherlock spread out naked, preferably on the kitchen table, and John licking something off him.

“Fuck!” 

The swear word that came from the kitchen concerned John.  Sherlock never used expletives unless he was injured or about to orgasm.  And it never failed to arouse John. He quickly made his way to the kitchen, finding Sherlock sitting at the table examining his hand.  

“What happened?”  John looked over Sherlock, trying to see what caused him to swear.

“I was attempting to place a microchip on the back of this bee, and it stung me.”  He held up his hand, showing John the wound on the tender skin between his thumb and first finger. 

“So, basically you were putting a backpack—”

“Microchip.”

“It looks like a tiny backpack.  Anyway, you were attempting to put this thing on the bee?  How exactly did you manage to get a bee to sit still enough to try this?”

Sherlock gestured to the assortment of equipment in front of him—a bee smoker, several flowers and honey.

“Right,” John said, looking over the things that were supposed to calm the bee.  “Come here.”  He led Sherlock to the bathroom, where he kept his medical kit.  Pulling out the stinger, he applied antibiotic ointment and a plaster. “Now, I want you to go clear off the table.”

“Why?” Sherlock looked confused.

“You know what happens to me when you swear.”

Sherlock swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. Off you go.”

* * *

 

John returned to the kitchen several minutes later, eyeing the scientific equipment littering the floor and counters. 

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

“I am not a patient man,” Sherlock said, leaning against the table.

John picked Sherlock up slightly, setting him on the kitchen table, and nestling himself between the younger man’s thighs. Pushing him to lie flat on the table, he braced his arms on either side of Sherlock’s body, dipping to press kisses that made both of them gasp. 

“No,” John ordered when Sherlock grabbed fistfuls of his arse, trying to pull the two of them together.  He reached behind him and grasped Sherlock’s hands, pinning them next to his head. 

“Please,” Sherlock begged, angling his hips to grind their constricted erections together.

“Sherlock,” John said warningly.

“Sorry,” he said, even though he clearly was not.

John reached up, slowly undoing each button of Sherlock’s wine-coloured shirt. Sherlock wriggled, arching his spine and throwing his head back to allow John to worship there.  Fingers deftly unzipped Sherlock’s trousers, and strong hands lifted him up slightly to allow the garment fall to the floor.

“No pants?” John raised an eyebrow, causing Sherlock to raise one of his own in response.

“It marred the line of my trousers.  I can’t have the outline of my pants showing.”

“God, you really are a ponce sometimes.”

“Shut up,” Sherlock pouted.  John pulled the lower lip of his pout between his teeth, nibbling gently and making Sherlock moan.

“Stay there,” John commanded, putting just a touch of Captain Watson in his voice.  He knew the way it made Sherlock shiver, just as he knew it was the only way to really get him to obey orders.

John pushed himself up, padding quietly over to the counter where Sherlock had unloaded some of the contents of the table.  Glancing over the various bits of scientific equipment, he found the jar he was looking for.  He turned around to find Sherlock propped up on his elbows.

“Do I need to tie you down?” John smiled at the flash of arousal that crossed Sherlock’s features. “Ah, well then.  That’s a change for the books.  You _want_ me to tie you down.  Maybe we’ll do that another day, then.  For now, though, if you ignore my directions, I’ll leave you here on this table.”

The noise Sherlock made wasn’t entirely human, a cross between a whimper and a squeak.  John laughed, and bent down to capture Sherlock’s lips in a searing kiss.  Leaving the younger man pressed against the table, John picked up the jar he had grabbed from the counter and screwed off the top.

“Open,” he commanded, placing two fingers against Sherlock’s full bottom lip.  He obliged, drawing John’s fingers into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the tips before John withdrew them.

“Honey?” he asked.

John smirked, “That’s not just a new nickname for me, right?” The detective rolled his eyes.  “Yes, honey.  I would like to…”

“Yes,” Sherlock said.

“You didn’t even listen to what-“

“I didn’t have to.  I deduced.”

“Yes, you’re very smart. Shut up now, please.”  John didn’t give Sherlock a chance to respond before he invaded the younger man’s mouth with his tongue. The sweetness of honey combined with Sherlock’s natural taste, the combination sending a jolt of fire to pool in the pit of John’s stomach.

Sherlock moaned as John explored his mouth slowly, taking his time to map out every corner. Their tongues tangled briefly before John pulled away, taking Sherlock’s lower lip between his teeth.  The detective lifted himself up, trying to remain in contact with John, but a gentle hand on his chest prevented him from doing so.

John reached for the jar of honey, pouring a line down the lightly defined muscles of Sherlock’s chest. His hand trailed south, tracing the sharp line of Sherlock’s hip before dancing around his cock. 

“Please,” the genius begged, making John smile.

It was something he could never resist - making Sherlock lose control, making him plead.  Sticky fingers circled Sherlock’s cock, thumb running over the slit.  Sherlock let out a moan, and John looked up at his partner.  White-knuckled hands gripped the edge of the table as he panted, cheeks flushed.

John pumped once, the stickiness of the honey causing more friction then they both were used to.  Sherlock let out a strangled sound.

“Too much,” he said, voice straining as he fought to breathe normally.

“Sorry.”  Before Sherlock had a chance to respond, John added more honey and eased his mouth down, engulfing the detective’s erection in one swift movement.

“Ungh.”  It seemed Sherlock was beyond coherent thought as John trailed his tongue up the underside of his cock, ending with a swirl around his head.

Sherlock whimpered as John removed his mouth briefly.  Dipping his head, John took a honey-coated testicle in his mouth, sucking gently as he lapped up the syrupy sweetness. Sherlock’s legs spread, seemingly of their own accord, as John pulled him towards the edge of the table.  He hooked both legs over his shoulders, kneeling on the cold linoleum.  Running his nose up Sherlock’s length, he grimaced at the still slightly tacky skin. 

John spread Sherlock’s buttocks, enjoying the musky smell of sex that permeated the air around him.  He loved Sherlock like this - reduced to a rambling mess. He smiled and pressed kisses along Sherlock’s inner thigh, the younger man spreading his legs even more the closer John got to his cock.  Pulling back slightly, John took inventory of where the honey had actually ended up.  It still coated Sherlock’s cock, but had dripped down his balls to end up in the cleft of his arse.

“Fuck,” Sherlock cried out as John licked a line up his perineum. 

John flattened his tongue, gently cleaning Sherlock of the sticky substance. They had never tried this before, and John was filled with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.  He would have thought it would feel disgusting, wrong even, but he was so turned on that the idea of penetrating Sherlock with his tongue made his own cock twitch sympathetically. 

Teasing gently, John ran his tongue over Sherlock’s firm ring of muscle.  “Relax,” he said, pressing a kiss along his inner thigh.

“I’m trying,” Sherlock responded, “It’s just a little a bit difficult with you… there.”

John pulled back, looking up at him.  “Do you want me to stop?” He had thought that Sherlock would enjoy this, but he often surprised John when it came to sex.  Granted, he was usually more adventurous than John, but maybe he had finally found his limits.

“God, no.”

John smiled and spread Sherlock with his hands, tongue resuming his gentle ministrations.  Alternating small flicks with languid strokes, he could feel Sherlock relax underneath him.  Finally determining the time was right, he firmed his tongue and pushed in.

“Fuck,” Sherlock moaned.  “I need you, now.”

John gladly obliged, slicking up one finger with his own saliva and pressing in.  He continued lapping while he built a slow pace.  Sherlock pressed back, and John put a hand on his hip, keeping him still.

“For God’s sake, faster,” Sherlock snapped.

John smiled and added a second finger, allowing his thumb to brush across Sherlock’s perineum. When he finally crooked his finger to find that particular bundle of nerves, Sherlock yelled out, legs locking around the doctor’s shoulders. 

“John,” Sherlock moaned, “I’m so close.”

John reached up, circling Sherlock’s cock with his hand while continuing to fuck him with his fingers. Apparently he had completely rid Sherlock’s erection of honey, his hand gliding smoothly over the hot skin.  He brushed his thumb over the head with each stroke, Sherlock letting out an impressive string of curses.

“I’m… I’m,” he panted, his orgasm exploding from his body. 

John kept his rhythm, helping Sherlock ride out the waves. He fell back against the table, chest covered in sweat and come.  John stood and released his own cock from his trousers, pumping furiously.  Watching Sherlock come was something that never failed to bring him close to the edge, no matter how little attention he had been paying to his own arousal. 

John chased his orgasm, and twelve strokes later he followed Sherlock, come spurting over the genius’s chest. 

“Disgusting,” Sherlock said, but made no effort to move. 

Falling on top of Sherlock, John grimaced at the combination of honey and come that was sandwiched between them.  He allowed himself to melt into Sherlock for a minute, gathering the energy to make his way to the bathroom for a shower, preferably with Sherlock.

* * *

 

_The next day_

 

“John!” Sherlock called from the kitchen.  “What did you do with the rest of the honey?” 

“Oh, right, I forgot to tell you.  We may have used it all yesterday.”

“All of it?”

“That’s what I said.”

Sherlock threw on his coat and hurried out the door.  John wasn’t worried, he had become used to the detective leaving at the drop of a hat with no explanation. Turning back to his book, he relaxed into his chair, waiting for his partner to return. 

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock arrived back at the flat with a dramatic swirl of his coat.  Setting down two bags, he collapsed on the couch.

“Going to the store is exhausting.”

John looked up, puzzled.  “You went shopping?”

“We were out of honey.”

Leaning over, he examined the contents of the bags. “Christ, how much honey did you get?”

“There were a variety of flavours. Honey tastes different based on the flowers used by the bees.”

“I see…”

“Besides, I…rather enjoyed last night.  Perhaps you would allow me to reciprocate?”

John laughed and stood up, taking Sherlock’s hand in his and led him to their bedroom.  “Oh, god yes.” 


End file.
